ne of the first conversations I had, when I moved into halls in London, was during a freshers mixer: "How much did you pay for school?" one person asked the room. At that moment, I met more people that had attended private school than I had in my entire 18 years of life previous to that.
Simply put, I was underprepared for the wealth I was about to encounter at Central Saint Martins, my chosen and dream university, and its adjacent circles I would move in afterwards. Not for how much it would cost to keep up socially or for the class currency of understanding certain behaviours.